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Show 17 Brad interrupted me there. He asked, "How goes the pulling? Priesthood giving you the strength?" He had yet to pull the handcart for even five feet-"out of protest until it was equal pulling for all," he said. I hated coming out of those fantasies. Even I was shocked at how narcissistic they were, and it was always a slap of cold water to be reminded that I had none of the qualities I had in the fantasy in real life. Also, I remembered that I was in the mountains walking for two more days without being able to shower or do anything I wanted. At least the pioneers could be motivated by their faith in the promise of Zion, or at least by resentment toward those who had driven them out-I was here just because I couldn't think of a way to be somewhere else. We didn't walk as far as usual that day, and we set camp while the sun was still in the sky. Targets had been set up and we tried black powder rifle shooting. I was not great with the rifle but enough people were firing at a time so no one really noticed who was hitting what target. After that, we held a fireside of sorts. Sister Evans was performing a skit where she played a squirrel with its mouth full of acoms when six men carrying torches rode in on horses. Their faces were painted black. We thought this might be part of the skit, but even Sister Evans looked surprised, and gave up her squirrel countenance to stare with the rest of us. The men circled us several times and called us "Mormon scum." They said we needed to get out of Jackson County. I recognized one of the men, our pioneer father Brother Peters. It was getting cold and the torches felt warm. |